He rises early in the summer, with the sun.
He skims the surface of the pool with his net, catching the bugs and the pine needles, until it is clear.
It would be cruel to call him lazy. Let’s just say he is less than ambitious. That’s okay – the summer is no time for ambition.
Our Shirtless Sunday continues as we offer congratulations to Novak Djokovic, who just beat Rafael Nadal to win this year’s Wimbledon title. Now if only Mr. Djokovic was the face, and body, of Armani Underwear… Giorgio, can you hear me?
Okay, a couple of issues with these shots of Zac Efron and Ashley Tisdale frolicking on the beach. First – I have no idea who Ashley Tisdale is. Should I?
Second, why does Zac wear underwear when he goes swimming? What is the point? I’m guessing he can afford a proper Vilbrequin swimsuit, or at least Parke & Ronen – the drying time of those compared to camo cargos AND Calvin Klein underwear is ridiculously shorter.
Finally, how staged can you be? I half expected to see some ‘From Here to Eternity’ kiss-and-roll into the waves. Sorry, I get cynical when it rains.
Since Nick Adams was gracious enough to simply tweet a “Jeeze!” when I posted a few (amazing) pics of him in his underwear, I thought I’d do a little tribute to the talented dancer and singer, and give a shout-out to the Broadway production of Priscilla: Queen of the Desert - which I am dying to see. (The first man I ever kissed took me to the movie when it originally came out in 1994, so the whole thing means a lot to me – even if the guy turned out to be a jerk. But bitterness digresses…)
Anyway, this is Mr. Adams again, who will always hold a special place in my heart for making Mario Lopez so dizzily jealous (allegedly). The best part, from all accounts I’ve read or heard, is that Nick is just as nice as he is handsome – and that makes all the difference. Thanks for being so cool Nick!
Now if I could just scrounge up some Broadway tix…
The time has come for summer romps in the pool, sneaking a glimpse of a tan-line through strap-like fountains of towering grass, the bars of cherry branches intertwining in a graceful cage, naked as a jaybird in this disconnected run-on sentence that flies nowhere.
Splashing about in the wardrobe God gave us, shamed by Adam and Eve, and all the religious zealots powerless against the glory that is the sun, water, sky. Watch me burn…
Here is a perennial Broadway Bares favorite (though not this year): Nick Adams, as per Mike’s request (see, I listen to my FaceBook friends). I believe Mr. Adams is sporting a ‘VPL’ (and the ‘P’ isn’t for Panties). This concludes a slightly smutty day of gratuitous male nudity. We’ll return to the high-brow skinny-dipping shots tomorrow.
